It’s Happening

The past week was long.  Usually the weeks blend together, not this one.  It had a distinct start, Sunday.  A finish, the next Sunday.  I choose to share my personal life in the hope that it helps someone.  Helps them know they are not alone.  Helps my friends know how I am doing.  My writing is where you will find honesty, not in the brave face I put forward.  I am constantly trying to find ways to honor Hayley.  Yes, part of me has this great fear she will be forgotten, that I, as her mom will be forgotten as people justly move on with their lives. This week it was license plate frames that say #belikehayley and be an organ donor.

I finally wrote to Hayley’s recipients.  I have been warned it can take years for them to reach out.  This would be heart breaking for me.  I am trying not to check the mail every day, trying to forget the heartfelt letters I sent.  It will happen when it happens.  I am also starting to work on the Be Like Hayley Foundation.  We will have a small fundraising event this summer to get it started.  We have the goal of awarding $5,000 in college scholarships in Hayley’s name for the 2019 graduating class.  Any additional funds this first year will go to create family packs at the local ICU where we spent the worst week of our lives.  Things like socks, toothbrushes, etc.  You often are arriving there in a hurry and not everyone has this amazing community around them like we did.  If I needed a toothbrush brought to me at Cherry Hill, I would have had 25 by the end of the day.  But not everyone is that lucky and may be from out of town, even out of state.  I want to provide some comfort during the worst time of their lives.

I don’t write about Scott and Henry that much.  It may seem that I have forgotten my other child.   This is so absolutely wrong on so many levels.  I choose to offer him privacy.  I figured out early on that a well meaning parent was talking about the blog and their child heard them and then said something to Henry like “your mom says you guys need food”.  So for those that have kids that may know Henry, just be careful what and how you say it in front of them.  Henry’s way of dealing with the notoriety of being the kid whose sister died is to lay low.  He doesn’t wear a #belikehayley bracelet and he doesn’t talk about it, at all.  He doesn’t want to be like her, he wants her here with him.  He instantly went from one half of a pair to an only child.  I am 47 years old and still can’t wrap my brain around what happen.  I cannot still function 100%.  His 15 year old brain may not really understand the emotions he is feeling but he is doing better than me.  The professionals had told us it may take 6 months or longer for it to really hit him or manifest.  Well like clockwork, 8 months in, I believe his grief has been cooking inside him.  Lots of feelings or ingredients that he didn’t recognize and now it is starting to boil over.  He still may look the same to his friends, but to adults he is different.  His sleep is not good and he is currently fighting beside me with a sinus infection which really has him worn down.  Add in the stress of High School and it is amazing he is doing so well.  I know he wishes I would stop asking him about how he is.  I usually get no specifics so I will try more direct questioning, are you sad about your sister?  Usually I get a “well duh mom of course I am sad” or once a “WTF Mom, what do you think?”.  Ahhh, he IS still a 15 year old boy.  So now at the the start of the week I witnessed his grief, then witnessed Scott’s grief as he comforted Henry. The other half of my heart is now broken.

This broken heart has manifested itself in physical ways.  More of the same and some new battles.  I have a sinus infection and a side of bronchitis but with no cough.  My doctor listened to my lungs and when I pointed out I had no cough, she said oh I hear it, just wait for it if you want or take this really strong ass antibiotic and dig out your inhaler.  I am so tired.  This tired is still the same bone deep tired of the last 8 months but now I care more about how bad the house is and not able to physically do something about it,  just frustrates me.  Scott had a very stressful week at work with major changes.  He is not a fan of change.  So between both my boys it was stressful and I had to be the strong one.  But it seems like we take a hit of some kind every time there is a small glimmer of hope that I can keep putting one foot in front of the other.  A lot of this I bring on to myself.  We have been waiting years to remodel our master bathroom.  We have been stressed about potential leaks going on behind the walls and under the tub.  We finally started moving forward slowly.  Months ago I purchased a tub and vanity from Costco.  I love Costco.  I found the right people to work with and am acting as my own designer and general contractor.  We are so lucky to have two men working on it that are friends too.  So Saturday one of them and Scott started the demo.  So now I have the added stress of a gutted bathroom and sharing the very tiny 2nd bathroom with a 15 year old boy.  Plus the reality that we probably bit off more than we can chew considering I still have not found a new job.  Poor Scott could barely move Sunday morning from Saturday’s manual labor, but he rallied to take me to the Ale House for my favorite brunch.  I tempted him with a reminder of how much he likes their bloody Marys and wouldn’t that help the pain.  He was two Marys in and we had a really great meal.  We even had not ran out of things to talk about.  This may be why I didn’t notice that my antibiotic laden stomach was trying to signal me SOS.  Our favorite waitress, Karen came with her bill when suddenly I had to GO.  I didn’t have to go as in leave the restaurant.  I didn’t have something trigger a crying jag and was trying to get out of the restaurant in a hurry.  Nope, I wasn’t that lucky.  I happen to be sitting with my back to the restroom wall.  I practically shoved Karen out of my way to head there as quickly as possible.  As I rounded the table next to us with the couple sharing one side of the table.  How cute.  I began a tiptoe small step movement with my legs because just like in the Bridesmaid scene in the street, “It’s happening”.  I was actually pooping my pants.  Not a skid.  Not an almost.  By the time I got to the bathroom it had soaked through my Atlheta gray joggers and I was left in the stall in tears and no cell phone.  Okay, I said to myself you can handle this, just don’t throw up, maybe it has not soaked through to the other side.  Fuck, yep, it for sure had.  Oh my god, Dawn, get a hold of yourself you need a plan here.  I had no jacket, no cell, nothing but the humiliation.  I pulled my tee down as far as it would go, not far enough and stuck my head out the door hoping Karen would come by.  Nope, remember, unlucky!  A woman attempts to enter.  I seriously for a second, thought about blocking her entering.  “oh HI, no, I am not done, just need to back up to the sink here and wash my hands”  Shit.  While she was in the stall I knew I had a very limited amount of time, like on a stop watch, before she came out and would quickly see what the problem was.  I exited and headed out of the backdoor.  Ha ha, yes I get it.  Walking as fast as my discomfort allowed.  I got to our car and thank goodness Scott’s pain had distracted him and he left the car unlocked.  Keep in mind I have now left him sitting in the restaurant for a good 15 minutes.  I found a jacket in the car, tied it around my waist and headed towards the front door.  Just as I reached it I saw Karen going by with eggs and bacon.  Really no importance as to what she was carrying but it left an impression on me.  I said “psst, Karen, I had a little problem, could you tell Scott to grab my stuff and meet me in the car.  She actually chuckled and said no problem.  I went to the car and climbed into the driver’s seat sitting on so many coats I had found in the car that my head was practically touching the ceiling.  My two bloody Marys in husband comes out and is “what the hell is going on?”.  “I shit my pants”.  “You what?”.  “Seriously do not make me repeat it, I shit my pants Scott as in I am sitting in shit right now”.  Is that clear enough?  “That is disgusting, what is wrong with you?” and  “don’t forget to stop for gas”.  WTF.  I am not stopping for gas I am sitting in my own shit on a pile of my own coats.  He can’t even look at me he is so disgusted.  He then says “Well you are going to take a shower right?”.  OMG, how many drinks did he have?  “What do you think Scott?  Of course I am.”  I swear his disgust was both warranted and really pissed me off.  He could not look at me the rest of the day.  Which is fine because I spent it curled up in a ball with my wet hair from my very long shower and occasionally cringing and crying as I relived my humiliation.

So here we are the middle of the night, telling lots of people I shit myself.  I am itchy from the antibiotics so took a midnight shower.  So no-one can say I hold back or shy away from anything embarrassing.  And if you have had the experience of shitting yourself and you are not a toddler, well look you are not alone and I hope you feel a lot better about yourself.